


then we kiss and his lips turn into sand (and the whole of him cascades through my hand)

by allthesongsmakesense



Series: i didn't know that we could break a silver lining [10]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Little Match Girl Fusion, Angst, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Retellings, TW: Blood, TW: Violence, fairytale AU, inspired by a shit-ton of things, john is just sliiiightly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthesongsmakesense/pseuds/allthesongsmakesense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>And when the sun comes up, we'll be nothing but dust</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>or; the one where skye is the little match girl...<br/><i> sort of </i><br/>and poor grant gets in her father's way</p>
            </blockquote>





	then we kiss and his lips turn into sand (and the whole of him cascades through my hand)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thequeenofokay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenofokay/gifts), [ladykestrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykestrel/gifts).



> OKAY SO I haven't really written a fic in, what?, 3 years?, something like that, so I'm a little (or a lot) rusty oops.  
> \- I would like to think of this as a very, very, _very_ late birthday present for Melissa [if someone asks, it was written 2 weeks ago SHH]  
>  \- and I'd like to send out a HUGE thanks to Dessie for running plot lines with me and being my beta  
> \- and both of them for just generally existing tbh  
> \- also god bless the masochistic brigade

* * *

_And when the sun comes up, we'll be nothing but dust_

* * *

 

She's born with a very special ability, her father says. Others would probably think it's her talent to set whatever she touches on fire and turn it to ruins and ashes. But no, he tells her, it's the power to find her mother's killers. She's _meant_ for this.

* * *

 

They live in a fairly big apartment on the last floor of a building situated on the main square. It has a view of the place where her mother used to sing. Not for money, Cal tells her, they never needed money. She loved singing, loved making people happy. Skye doesn't remember much about her. The photographs are the only way she doesn't forget her face, but her voice she couldn't forget, even if she tried. It's the what puts her to sleep at night and wakes her in the morning. It's the only thing her mother's left her. Or so she thinks.

Cal places Skye on that exact same spot, hoping that the resemblance she bears to Jiaying will force those he's looking for to take a closer look and let the guilt and his daughter do the rest of the work.  
He chooses matches. She could sell anything to anyone, really, with those warm brown eyes, but he gives her matches. Maybe because he's the only one who gets the joke, maybe because he's the only one who sees the irony. Buying matches from a girl that's about to set you on fire. _Hilarious._ But he gives her the matches and doesn't even care about how many boxes she sells, as long as she _touches_ as many people as she can. _When you take their money or give them change, handing them a box of matches or just being polite and shaking their hand. You **must** do it. With everyone. No exceptions._

She doesn't ask why.

She doesn't _want_ to.

* * *

 

One night, less than a week before her seventh birthday, she brings home a stray dog that's been keeping her company the whole day. Her father says nothing, just shakes his head and sighs heavily. He supposes it was bound to happen sooner or later.

She goes to sleep with the pup at her feet.

She wakes to a pile of ashes.

She learns very early on that everything, _everyone_ she loves will eventually turn to dust.

Good thing she loves nothing. _No one._ Good thing _no one_ loves her.

She can't afford that.

* * *

 

When she's 10, she makes the mistake of following her father after he disappears at dusk, like every other night. For weeks her dreams are haunted by cries for help and crimson blood soaking the pavement. (Gods, there's always so much blood.) She's too scared to refuse him anything, not wanting to end up as one of her own nightmares. When she stops dreaming, she later realizes, it's when the ice creeps into her soul and robs her of her conscience. The warmth leaves her for a while.

(Until _him_.)

* * *

The next morning her father tells her the truth, or at least what he believes to be the truth - with her last dying breath, Jiaying has given Skye those powers (more like  _cursed_ her _with_   _those good for nothing powers,_ she thinks) - a single touch, or any physical contact with her, can set a person's insides on fire in the matter of hours, turn them to nothing but ruins. However, he insists, her mother's killers only get a burning mark - impossible to hide and the only way Cal can track them and avenge his wife, and _most importantly -_ keep them both safe.

.

.

.

Her whole life he tells Skye that she's something else. That she's special. Perfect, even. For a long time she's wondered why. She sure hasn't  _felt_ much different. But then again she doesn't know anyone else who feels like there's gasoline running through their veins. Maybe she _is_ special. Meant to be, at least.

* * *

 

She's sixteen when she meets _him_. Her father has just recently given her the freedom to work wherever in the town she likes. She usually strolls aimlessly along the main street, sometimes even visits the sea - she has always felt a pull towards it that, quite honestly, terrifies her - but every time, she ends up on that same place where her mother once sang her songs. Where Skye now sings them too, at the end of the day, when she's sold all her match boxes and touched - _killed -_ who knows how many, and just forces the cold to leave her veins. She lets her voice find its way into her mother's melody, the one that's been haunting her for years, and Skye swears it's the only time she actually feels free.

A small crowd gathers around Skye whenever they hear her, forming a mosaic of faces, in which she recognizes only one. She's seen _him_ before, way before he becomes the most regular guest at her improvised concerts - she's seen him enjoying the sea breeze merely feet away from her, or walking his dog right under her window. (A terrible image from long ago makes her head spin and forces her to sit down.) When Skye notices him, though, watching her sing, eyes closed and head to the sky, she realizes all this time she's been hoping, _praying_ silently, that he never gets near her. At least not near enough for her to have to take his life away.

No one answers her prayers, of course.

.

He waits for her, one evening after her audience has dispersed.

She can see him holding something (something for her?) behind his back. _Gods, please don't let it be flowers_. Any other girl her age would be brimming with joy at the possibility of someone as handsome as _him_ openly showing his affection for her. And yet again, Skye wishes she was just like any other girl. Because if she to takes those flowers in her tiny hands, they will wither and die in a matter of seconds. With the corner of her eye she finds her father observing her once again. No, she can't have him, either of them, see that. She decides it's easier to just pretend she hasn't seen the young man standing there and to avoid his tender glare until she's safely home. Lost in thought, though, she doesn't notice he's already approached her, a shy smile on his lips, and nearly jumps out of her skin.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

 She shakes her head, saying it's okay, but he still takes a step back to give her space. A few moments of silence pass before her stranger awkwardly clears his throat and begins again, "Um... I couldn't help but notice the melody you sing is always the same." She feels herself nodding, a bittersweet smile on her face, suddenly really interested in the ring on her finger. "And I'm not going to lie and say it immediately stroke me as something familiar." This time Skye lifts her head to see his own sorrowful eyes. "But there was something there and I- I kept coming back, _knowing_ that I could find out what it was..."

"And?" She doesn't mean for it to sound as rude as it does, but for some reason she just really needs to _know._

He continues, " _And_ -and I found out a few days ago…" He takes a moment to look her in the eyes and Skye feels her cheeks flushing with color. "But I still couldn't stop coming to listen to you. So I thought you'd like to have this." He hands her a tiny music box that seems like it hasn't been played in years. (She makes certain of Cal witnessing her brushing his hand slightly, even if it really only hovers.) "It was my sister's." Skye doesn't miss the past tense and the way his voice slightly breaks, and lets out a small “oh.” She opens the box and the familiar song starts playing. _Her_ song. _Her mother's song_.

"What was her name?" she asks after it's ended, sincerely hoping she doesn't hurt him because that's the _last_ thing she wants to do.

He seems to smile at the memory. "Rose. _Rosie_. She would've loved listening to you, you know. She adored singing as well, but poor thing couldn't get out half a note right." He huffs out a sad laugh but for some reason Skye can't do the same.

Here is this beautiful stranger, who's been nothing but nice to her, who's pouring salt in an old wound for _her_ , who has given her a piece of her mother back without even knowing it, who she feels like she could love with her whole being...

Here he is.

And now she has to kill him.

"I realize I haven't properly introduced myself," he interrupts her train of thoughts. "My name's Grant."

She lifts her head to meet his gaze and the tears gathered in her eyes spill on her cheeks. He is immediately alarmed. "Hey did--did I say something? Did I hurt you in any way? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to," He gently says and brings a finger to her face to brush away a fallen teardrop.

She jerks away instantly and runs until her feet hurt, until she's out of breath and there's really nowhere to go. _Did he hurt her?_ Gods, he couldn't be more wrong. He _can't_ hurt her. No one can. Hasn't she tried countless times herself? Her wounds just became awful burn marks (much like her mother's killers, she thinks bitterly) - a reminder that she prefers dying than living to see someone else wither at her hands.  

She’s wrong. She isn't special. There's nothing special about taking innocent lives, pretending that it's for "the greater cause" only because her father has said so. Only because it’s been easier to believe him. Because she’s been afraid to stand up to him.

She's so _weak._  

She's a _monster._

.

.

She doesn't see Grant again.

She's torn between wanting him to be alive and as far away from her as possible, and wishing him dead, so her father never has the chance to find him, to find out she hasn't killed him.

.

.

She keeps the music box. Hides it from Cal under her pillow and plays it only before she goes to sleep every night. It's the only thing that keeps her sane, that keeps her from striking the match on her own hand and losing herself in the flames. It's the only reason she's somehow still Skye.

.

.

* * *

 

Her whole life she lives between four walls. Four walls and an endless sky. She feels like a bird stuck in an unlocked cage, which for some reason just _can't_ fly away. That's what she tells Grant when she unexpectedly sees him, for the first time in years, after she's given him the whole story, right from the beginning, every gruesome and monstrous detail - it takes her the strength of every cell in her body not to break down then and there, her skin itching to make something go up in flames - and he's asked her, "Why didn't you run?"

For a while he says nothing, his back to her. She feels the crippling fear that she's scared him off, that he'll call her a beast...

"And you? Why did you come back?" she finally breaks the silence.

"Because of my little wingless bird," he says and Skye can hear the smile in his voice even before he turns to face her, the moist in his eyes betraying him. "I don't know how you survived without me," he jokes, but then, "I knew you would. I _hoped_ you would." And she laughs because he doesn't know. He doesn't know she's survived only thanks to him.

She wants to smack him playfully on the shoulder like she's seen so many siblings do, to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in the crook of his neck like the lovers that pass by them.

She shouldn't be doing any of this, she shouldn't be even talking to him. Every second he spends with her is a danger to his life and gods, she _can't_ lose him again.

"You won't," she realizes she's been thinking out loud. "I trust you."

She knows she should find reassurance in his words, but a single thought has her paralyzed.

Her father can't know he's alive.

_"Why didn't you run?"_

_Because I don't know how._

_._

She hides him.

She hides him like a music box under her pillow.

She hides him on the beach, behind the tall sand dunes. Every day, right at noon.

She hides him under the pink-and-orange clouds of the sunset. Under the first stars of the night.

She hides him like the silver phoenix necklace he gives her the day after he comes back, the day after she tells him she feels like a bird. She can't help but smile at the accuracy - she _is_ a phoenix, and she can, she _will_ rise from the ashes, even if she has to die in fire first.

Once again he's given her hope, without even realizing.

She keeps him hidden, like he's a little secret.

She's always thought herself to be good at keeping secrets.

She's wrong.

.

.

She should be aware that something's not right. She should learn to trust that feeling in her gut. She should. But no one tells her that. So she doesn't.

.

* * *

The first clear sign that her father is onto something - one she, of course, misses - is when Skye goes home and Cal asks her what she's done that day, instead of the usual "How many?" or just the raised eyebrow.

.

That summer night is the first one with shooting stars. Skye's wish had been simple - freedom. She wishes to be free of her father, of her powers, of the burden she'd had to carry since a child. Grant refuses to share, something about it not coming true.

That night is also her first big mistake.

* * *

 

Hints keep dropping and she keeps missing them and she can't help but ask herself _how could she?_

Even when there are no more matches for her to sell, even after her music box disappears, Skye somehow still finds a reasonable explanation for everything. _Because it's easier to believe it._ It's easier to believe she can be the closest she's ever been to happy, for as long as she can.

How foolish.  

To think she actually _deserves_ happiness.

* * *

 

.

She watches the sunset alone that day, trying to fight the worry that something's happened. He _has_ told her, after all, that he has work in town, too. But it gets to her, and when she goes home earlier than usual, she's already shaking.

Her father's gone, _of course,_ her music box left on the table, as a sign, instead of a note saying where he's gone to and what he's about to do.  

She doesn't feel her feet moving. She misses the part where she leaves the apartment and goes into a familiar direction, one that's been seared into her memory for almost ten years. Skye only realizes it a second too late, when she arrives at the dark alley that's been haunting her dreams and painting her nightmares in blood red. It's where she'd lost the last pieces of her innocence.

And it's where Cal holds Grant, a knife to his gut.

She starts to see more clearly now. Her father thinks Grant is with _them._ Grant, her sweet Grant, who's given her his little sister's music box, who buys her her favorite lunch every day, who hasn't told her his wish out of superstition... And for her father to think he's a _murderer?_

"Father!" Skye yells, hoping to at least delay the inevitable. "Father, please, look at his hand."

Cal seems confused for a moment, but then takes Grant's hands with unnecessary cruelty, his finger digging into the skin where there's supposed to be a burning mark. Where there _isn't_ one.

"But I _saw_ you touch him!" he screams back, but she just shakes her head and whispers _no._ " _Skye_! Why is the boy _alive_?!"

How does she explain that? How does she-- " _Skye!"_

"Because he's the only real family I have anymore!" She chokes back a sob. When has she started crying?

Cal looks at them both, as if considering her words.

He moves away the knife.

And then stabs Grant right in the chest.

(she thinks she hears him utter something like _John should have taught you better._ )

(she might as well be hallucinating)

(she might as well be dying)

Her deafening screams are muffled by his loud curses. " _Your only family?_ How _dare_ you speak those words when your mother gave her life for you _right here?_ " He points to where Grant's bleeding out, where Skye has already knelt, not knowing what to do with her own hands, not wanting to touch him, not yet anyway. "You were ready to throw it all away for some _boy._ She would've been _so_ disappointed in-"

"Shut. Up." Something inside of Skye awakes and there's no going back now. Her hair floats in curls over her back.

Rage suits her.

"My _mother_ ," she utters through clenched teeth, "would've never let me become the monster that _you_ turned me into, that _you_ are."

Cal sighs, "Yes, you're right, Skye. She was a good person. Unlike us. Look at what we've done, all the lives we've taken. Do you _honestly_ still believe you belong wherever she is? Because you don't, _sweetheart_." Her father spits the last word out. "You belong to this life-long hell we've all been sentenced to. You belong with _me._ "

"No," she whispers, furiously shaking her head. "No, I don't."

She ignores him and finally turns her attention to Grant, who's gone too pale, too _still,_ in the meantime.

'Hey," she tries to smile at him. "I'm gonna make it stop, okay? Do you trust me?" It takes him a great deal of strength to just nod, Skye realizes, so she wastes no time. She cradles his almost lifeless figure in her arms and brings her lips to his closed eyelids. (Her tears burn and smoke, and leave stinging marks. She's becoming the fire she's been trying to put out for so long.)

 

The last thing she remembers is that she's never felt so _warm._ So bright. _Pure._

_._

_._

_._

Something, some _one_ illuminates the small town.

There's not even a pile of ashes where Grant and Skye once have been.

Just a little silver bird.

A phoenix.

.

.

.

You can't drown the fire. It'll consume itself before you even try.

* * *

  _And your body warmth no longer beside me_

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- title from "smoke" by daughter  
> \- the part where skye's hair floats in the air may or may not be inspired by [this](http://www.ew.com/sites/default/files/i/2014/04/23/agents-of-shield-art.jpg) AoS art  
> \- on [tumblr](http://insurqent.co.vu/post/113803936885/then-we-kiss-and-his-lips-turn-into-sand-and-the)


End file.
